


& the feeling of home

by vivaavoce



Category: Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, Gentle Kissing, Implied Sexual Content, Lazy Mornings, Pancakes, Post-Canon, Slow Dancing, Soft Love, the ending they deserve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-23 02:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13777443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivaavoce/pseuds/vivaavoce
Summary: In a shining future where a plane doesn’t take off and a metal embrace doesn’t end in fire, he wakes slowly.





	& the feeling of home

**Author's Note:**

> title from [soft yellow sunrise](https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1224630/soft-yellow-sunrise/) by kerri

In a shining future where a plane doesn’t take off and a metal embrace doesn’t end in fire, he wakes slowly.

Sunlight peeks through the drawn shutters, casting rays along the hardwood floor and the pure white of the comforter. He comes to gradually, stretching languidly before snuggling back into the large pillows, smiling.

The room is hazy and underneath the covers is a drowsy warm. The soft song of birds and people outside the window makes him want to stay in bed with his love all day. So what if they both have work today - it’s been months since he’s called in sick and he wonders if he kisses her hard enough if she’ll call in as well.

He’s stretching out his hand to rub her back to say good morning but instead his fingers grasp at empty sheets. He props himself up on his elbows, confused and squints at the room.

Diana is nowhere in the room but the further he stays out from under the covers, he hears more. The kitchen is a few steps from the room and it’s with a drawn out groan that he pulls himself from the comforters and pads towards the other room.

The closer he gets, the more smells wrap around him and beckon him closer - tantalizing him with the sizzling of bacon and the unique tang of freshly-squeezed orange juice, a delicacy he’s finding himself to enjoy more and more with each glass. He rounds the corner and comes face-to-face with the greatest thing he’s ever seen.

Steve’s cheeks warm at the sight of Diana Prince, Princess of Themyscira, Amazonian, daughter of Zeus and Queen Hippolyta standing in the kitchen, flipping pancakes in only a pair of black lacy panties and a white button-up.

The same shirt that was discarded on the bedroom floor the night before.

Her hair is a wild mess, draping over her shoulders and down her back and his fingers ache to run through the tangles. In the sunlight coming through the bay windows in the living room, her skin is _glowing_ , radiant, and he’s reminded of just how ethereal she is.  

On the marble, his footsteps are quiet but he knows that she’s aware of his presence. He doesn’t mind though and wraps his arms around her waist, humming in her ear. The air is warm with her returning smile and her voice is slightly husky as she flips another pancake.

“Good morning,” she murmurs and he smiles into the skin at the back of her neck. She still smells of the sheets and even though it’s faint, he sighs at the warm vanilla and amber that’s her bodywash. His own is right next to hers on the ledge in the shower and smells of the woods - mahogany and cinnamon.

The bubbling of the pancakes on the griddle is the only sound in the room except the quiet music wafting through the air from the radio that sits on the counter. In the living room, the sheer white curtains flutter to the early summer morning breeze that flits playfully throughout the entire flat.

On the radio, an announcer’s soft voice introduces the next song and something swells in his chest - he knows this song.

It’s the same song they swayed to the night she saw snow for the first time, after the battle. He can still remember Charlie’s warbling voice and the off-key notes of the old piano inside the bar, can still remember Diana’s warm hand in his as they danced to the music that wrapped around them.

That night, they blocked out the world with each other’s smells and touches and noises and he remembers the next morning when the sunlight came in the boarded windows and the boys pounded on the door.

“They’ll burn,” Diana warns as he pulls her away from the stove but despite her complaining, she doesn’t stop him. He knows very well that if she wanted to resist, she would, but her body melts against his and his heart beats against hers.

Diana sets her chin on his shoulder, breathing in the grounding scent of a man alive in her arms and not dead on a battlefield and he tightens his grip on her. They’re both the same height when she’s in her armor but when she’s only in a button-up and underwear, she’s two inches shorter than him and she loves being able to tuck herself under his chin.

Sometimes, even warriors need to be held.

They move in a circle, slowly, lazily, and even after the song ends in a croon of a woman’s voice and the fading chords of a piano, they stay.

So maybe the pancakes on the griddle burn and the bacon goes cold - they’re happy and that’s all that matters. So maybe she loses the shirt and the bed sheets are rumpled - they’re happy and that’s all that matters.

They both know the risk of what she does, the risk of what she must do, despite her immortality but he doesn’t think of that as he traces her skin with a reverent finger and she doesn’t think of it as she kisses him, deep and passionate.

The city outside is alive, his heart is beating, and she is happy.


End file.
